


Logan and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

by seriousfic



Series: Ultimacy [1]
Category: Marvel Ultimate Universe, Spider-Man (Ultimateverse), X-Men (Ultimateverse)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bodyswap, Doggy Style, F/M, First Kiss, Mildly Dubious Consent, Morning After, Multiple Selves, Reality TV, Sex Pollen, Telepathy, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1434388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seriousfic/pseuds/seriousfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why did Logan switch minds with the one teenager in New York who doesn’t have a fake ID?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Finally free of detention, Logan walked until he hit a liquor store, walked his teenage body through the doors, went unerringly to the Molston, and brought two six-packs to the front. Unvarying routine; it was almost like having his animal senses back. Not that he minded a break from smelling New York.

 

“Bag it,” he said, throwing them on the counter.

 

The clerk looked at him. “I’m gonna need to see some ID.”

 

Logan growled. It did not have the same effect coming from a seventeen-year-old boy.

 

***

 

The little red lights on the cameras went out and guards with some very unfriendly fashion accessories came to collect Peter and Jean. They were frog-marched to some showers, hosed down, and given replicas of their old costumes. About the only thing that kept Peter from freaking out about being in someone else’s body (someone who was in a _concentration camp_ ) was that Jean kept up a steady stream of telepathy.

 

He sent: _So much leather. Why so much leather? Do you just hate cows?_

_It’s a special synthetic fiber. It keeps Sentinels from detecting our mutant DNA._

_But it doesn’t cover your belly button?_

_Don’t talk to me; you’re the guy who doesn’t have a mouthhole in your mask._

_Hides my Van Dyke._

_Shut up._

_I’m not talking, remember? Gosh, **you’re** the psychic._

Again, the commands ending in “mutie!” and the guns poking into their backs, until they were in something that looked like a drunk tank for Captain Kirk. Some of the other X-Men were there, but Peter was too busy having a nervous breakdown to remember their names. Big Guy, Black Lady, Catty Pride, and some girl who had enough piercings to count as a mutant power.

 

“No questions,” Jean ordered crisply. “Everyone on the floor. We need to commune with the Goddess.”

 

 _Excuse me?_ Peter sent.

 

_Indian-sit in a circle and join hands._

_Uh, last time I did that, Mrs. Ferguson was reading us a story about how Fuzzy Rabbit didn’t have to be scared of thunder._

_Just do it, Parker. You owe me anyway._

_I owe you? For what, dragging my mind into the middle of The Hunger Games?_

_Yeah, right before you got to fuck me seven ways to Sunday. Sit!_

Peter sat down, and very careful not to pop his claws, he linked hands with the X-Men on either side of him.

 

Suddenly, they weren’t in a sleekly futuristic prison. They were in his room. And he wasn’t five foot seven and smelling of Old Spice anymore. Just your friendly neighborhood Peter Parker.

 

“What? Why is Logan not Logan?” the big Russian guy asked.

 

“Better questions!” Peter ticked them off on his fingers. “Why are we in Queens? What’s going on? What’s going on again? What’s going on times about eleventy billion?”

 

“Peter, calm down—“ Jean called. The leader of the X-Men was sitting on his bed. That was way too much for him to take.

 

“Explain!”

 

She held a placating hand up to the X-Men, who were getting agitated by him. “Alright, then _listen._ I told you that my power works, a little. Thus, I’m able to join our minds, but only while we’re all in direct contact. It’s the same principle as our mental conversation earlier. I thought this would just make it a little easier for you. A lot of people find it disconcerting to have more than one or two voices in their heads.”

 

“Yeah, _that_ would be disconcerting. And my room?”

 

Jean looked around. “Your mind’s the most… active. Because you’re so nervous and so unused to this communication, your brain’s flooded with endorphins and you are dominating this conversation. I’m allowing it, and so we’re being projected to an environment you find safe and familiar.”

 

“Safe and familiar, right?” Piercings snorted. “I bet this guy’s nearly been caught masturbating in here about fifty times.

 

“Sweet girl,” Peter commented. “Think I know how she got all those holes in her head.”

 

“I am the fucking Dazzler, peasant—“

 

“I’ll handle the introductions,” Jean cut in, “unless _everyone_ would like to drop an F-bomb. Guys, this is Peter Parker. I accidentally switched his brain with Logan’s.”

 

 _That_ met with uproar. “Accidentally?” the black woman demanded. “How do you pull that shit accidentally?”

 

“Well, if I knew that, I wouldn’t have done it. But suffice to say, while having sex with Logan’s body isn’t such a bad prospect, having sex with his personality _is._ ”

 

The ladies conferred in agreement, though the Russian quietly disagreed.

 

“Now then,” Jean continued. “Peter, this is Piotr Rasputin, Ororo Munroe, Alison Blaire, and Kitty Pryde. Don’t bother trying to remember their names, I’m already uploading the pertinent bios into your long-term memory.”

 

“Gee, thanks. Mind putting in the answers to my AP History quiz while you’re in there?”

 

“So, wait—“ Piotr held up a hand. “You’ve replaced Wolverine, the most dangerous mutant on the planet, with some random high school student? How could you do that? We have no chance of escape now!”

 

“He’s not just some _student._ He’s Spider-Man.”

 

“Whoa!” Peter cried. “Time-out, time-out, hold the friggin’ phone! You cannot just tell people my secret identity!”

 

“So he’s Spider-Man, so what?” Alison asked. “I already forgot his name.”

 

“And my face? I can’t believe you’re all looking at my face. Can I get a mask in here?”

 

“You just think it and—“ Kitty started helpfully. “No, never mind, I’ll do it.”

 

She concentrated and an oni mask appeared on him.

 

“Not what I had in mind,” Peter said, his voice echoing inside it.

 

“Well, technically, it _is_ what you have in mind,” Jean pointed out.

 

“Whatever. Everyone, just—forget my face! And name!”

 

“Here’s a picture of him,” Ororo said, picking a frame up from his desk. “With his grandma.”

 

“Awww,” Kitty cooed.

 

“Put that down! She’s my aunt!”

 

“I was just going to ask if you wanted me to put it down.” Ororo set it facedown on the desk. “There. Cool?”

 

“No! Uncool! Very uncool!” Peter faced Jean, groaning in frustration. “Hey, Spock, you think you could mind-meld these guys into forgetting the last two minutes? And the most closely guarded secret of my life, which if revealed would threaten the lives of everyone I love?”

 

“Did he just ask her to wipe our brains?” Alison asked.

 

“In a nice way,” Kitty stressed.

 

“I’m not wiping anyone’s mind!” Jean said firmly. “Peter, you are just going to have to get used to us knowing your secret. We’ll try our best to keep it, and we’ve done a pretty good job of keeping a lid on things so far. But we need all the cards on the table if we’re going to figure a way out of this.”

 

“Hey, no offense, but that really seems like more _your_ problem than _my_ problem. I have enough problems. I’m in high school.”

 

“So are we!” Kitty said.

 

“I did the slap and tickle thing, and I’ll be sure to call you in the morning, but for now, could you please put me back in my body? I’m kinda attached to it and I much prefer the way it smells.”

 

“Can’t,” Jean said simply.

 

“Okay, I’ve seen every body-switch movie there is. We just have to redo whatever you did in the first place. So make a wish on a silver dollar while it’s struck by lightning on a Friday, _whatever._ Just get me back to Queens!”

 

“Not a request you hear too often,” Piotr observed.

 

“I told you!” Jean insisted. “I can’t. I don’t know what I did, I don’t know how I did it, I don’t know how to undo it. Your best chance is the Professor. He’s forgotten more about telepathy than I know.”

 

“A forgetful telepath is not as reassuring as you think. But fine. Where’s the Prof?”

 

“Don’t know,” Ororo said.

 

“You kiddin’ me?”

 

“The Genoshans have him somewhere in this compound, in a higher-security cell than this one. I can’t imagine what they’ve done to keep him from getting help.”

 

Peter groaned again, hands on his head like he was struggling to keep in an exploding headache. “Okay, okay, _move._ ”

 

“What?”

 

“Off my bed!”

 

Jean got off his bed. Peter flopped down on it, staring at the ceiling, covering his face with his hands.

 

“My bed. Mine.” Peter kicked at the mattress. “Alright! Pretend I fell asleep during the opening credits and I’ve woken up in the middle of the movie. Anything else I need to know?”

 

“To what?” Jean asked.

 

“To get you out of this confusing, silly, dumb, weird situation I’ve been thrust into with no idea why this is happening to me or what’s really going on. It’s kinda what I do.”

 

“We’ve already been over—“ Ororo began, but Jean cut her off.

 

“Angel, Nightcrawler, Iceman, and a few civilian mutants are out in the jungle. They’re being hunted by the Reavers: mutant haters with cybernetic upgrades to kill us. They’re led by Deadpool. He’s an ass.”

 

“And these collars?” Alison asked rhetorically. “Not just a fashion statement. Which sucks, because they’re a boss accessory. They’re called inhalers.”

 

“Inhibitors,” Kitty corrected. “They suppress our mutant powers. We try to take them off and they blow up.”

 

“Tried disarming them?”

 

“We look like we got an electronics whiz up in here?” Ororo asked.

 

Peter put on his old pair of glasses. “You tell me.”

 

***

 

Scott lingered in the shower after his time with Raven. He knew Jean was in danger. He knew she wouldn’t be if she had joined the Brotherhood with him. He also knew that she could handle herself better than any man he’d ever met.

 

He did not know if his willingness to leave her in peril equaled his continuing faith in her competence. But he dried and dressed himself quickly. The shower, hot as it was, did not relax him.

 

He joined Magneto in his office at the pinnacle of the complex, where Erik had unironically seated himself. For a man who believed in all mutants being equal, he made it very hard for people to equal him. Scott knew from experience.

 

The view was worthwhile, though. The walls entirely translucent, a flower head with silver petals that Magneto could veil himself in whenever he chose. Now, the view showed three hundred and sixty degrees of the Savage Land, the mutant architecture’s elevation revealing the landscape from the brontosaurus herds in the south to the roving packs of raptors up north.

 

It was all red to Scott.

 

“I received your message,” Erik said, his voice booming from atop his throne as if Scott were a mile off instead of at his feet. “You marshal persuasive arguments, young Summers. As always.”

 

“I was taught to operate from logic. Not optimism or cynicism. Now is just the right time to act.”

 

Magneto gently removed his helmet, holding it in his lap as if he were about to offer it to Scott. Throw it at him. “Do you know why I don’t trust you, Cyclops?”

 

“You still think I’m a spy for Xavier.”

 

“No, no…” Erik chuckled good-naturedly. “If I thought that, I would’ve killed you long ago. Certainly before Ms. Darkholme took you to bed. No. It’s love.”

 

Scott walked off to the side, admiring what he could see of the view. “I don’t understand,” he said evenly.

 

“Always willing to admit it, too. As a good pupil should.” Erik stood. He walked down the few steps that led up to his throne. So few. Just enough to elevate him, merely a head or two above a tall man. “Are you a god-fearing man, Scott?”

 

“I don’t feel I have much to fear from God,” he answered diplomatically.

 

“Mutants,” Erik said, an inch or two shorter than Scott now that they were on level ground, but seeming to tower over him, “are God’s chosen inheritors. As Eve replaced Lilith, so we are meant to take the Earth from the failed experiment of mankind and be the worthwhile stewards that these homo sapiens could not. And as God’s People, we cannot be merely good. Merely moral. We must fight and die for our convictions; the convictions of Heaven. We must _burn_ with the fury of the righteous! The fury that smote every firstborn from the land of Egypt, the wrath of Jesus Christ in the marketplace, the cold calculus that let Noah save two of every animal but not one, _not one,_ of those sinful masses who had squandered God’s gift of _life._ ” Erik stepped away, helmet under his arm, and Scott felt electric. Like he might die. “You hear of an obscenity against your God and your brethren, and you wait until it becomes expedient to act. You are a shepherd and you have seen the wolves among your flock, yet only now do you hasten. Is that how the righteous will act in the Promised Land?”

 

“Who says we get to the Promised Land?” Scott asked. “We’re shepherds. We don’t join the flock. We tend it.”

 

Magneto’s wizened face came to hold a smile. “I might have said the same once to Charles. You reminded me of him, once. I miss that about you.”

 

Scott said little. Only: “The most wretched men in this world are those who are peaceful when their lives allow it but violent when their lives are eased by it. I’m not an X-Man. I’m never going to be at peace. But I don’t expect I’ll get the chance.”

 

Magneto put a hand on his shoulder. “You will. Sooner than you think. And in no small part due to your own leadership. Yes. Yes, I think there’ll be place for you in the Promised Land, and a time for me to wander in the desert.” He gathered his breath. “I would’ve done anything to spare Charles the hard choices, once. Now I wish I could take more of them from you.”

 

He took his hand away.

 

“You’re wrong about me,” Scott said.

 

“Oh?”

 

“I have love. In unguarded moments.”

 

Erik tilted his head to the side. “Love is being willing to burn the world down when the one you live for can only eat ashes. I love you, Scott. Your brothers and your sisters as well. I would do anything to make this world safe for you.”

 

“Safety was never an option,” Scott said simply.

 

“No.” Magneto looked out the windows. “Our army gathers at my command, but who do they assemble for? You or me?”

 

“Academic,” Scott replied.

 

“They’ll be ready to depart soon. My daughter among them. Wanda is quite fond of you.”

 

Scott almost smiled. “If Pietro heard you say that—“

 

“Please.” Erik gestured, a casual charge of the magnetosphere becoming visible where his hand traveled. The windows parted along a metal-lined seam. He and Scott stepped out upon a metal platform. “Don’t believe the human propaganda. My children have a closeness, but to _actually_ gossip about them lying with each other—humanity has much to answer for. Yet Pietro is overprotective. He does not trust me to protect his sister; she is the only one he favors. As you’ve noticed, Pietro has not inherited my sociability.”

 

 _And you’re the guy who wants to turn humans into hamburgers when you don’t get enough sleep,_ Scott thought. The platform slid smoothly into motion, carrying them through the air toward the hangar.

 

“I’m not one to talk to about happy families,” Scott said simply.

 

“I am talking to you. Wanda is my blood, and unlike her brother, she does not have a personality to overshadow it. Our people have suffered much at the hands of humans and race traitors. It’s given them long memories. If Wanda were yours, you would not only be my successor, but my heir. Your time with Xavier—your _attachment_ to his prize pupil—it would be forgotten.”

 

Scott’s brow furrowed. “I… have someone.”

 

“I’m aware.” Erik raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t exactly— _kept it quiet._ Another thing Wanda sees in you, perhaps.”

 

“Sir…”

 

“Monogamy is a prudish Victorian concept that has long outlived its usefulness. I can assure you, Raven has done far worse than sharing a man.”

 

“Not with me.”

 

Magneto halted the platform and advanced on Scott, nearly edging him off the side as they came nose to nose. “ _Summers_ —I allow you to lie to me as much as you lie to yourself. No more. You can _lie_ all you want that you’re not doing this for Ms. Grey, but I know what’s truly in your heart, _boy._ Your world wouldn’t burn for Raven or for Wanda, but it would for _her,_ so I’ve named my price. The girl will make it to the Promised Land, but she will not be yours. She will never be yours. I give you my only daughter. I give you my most trusted lieutenant. If they are not enough to buy you, than you’re far worse than loyal to Xavier. You’re loyal to _nothing._ And I should kill you now.”

 

Scott eyed him right back. “I’ll be Wanda’s husband. In every capacity.”

 

Magneto did not answer until the platform started moving again. “Son.”


	2. Chapter 2

Thank mutant God, his apartment in the city still had some liquor left from the last time he’d had to crash there. Logan sat in his easy chair—the one chair in the spider-hole—and drank from the bottle. Kid’s body wasn’t used to it. Nearly coughed it up. Logan forced more down.

 

Wasn’t like he could rightly get up to anything in some punk kid’s body; best if he just enjoyed his newfound ability to get drunk without a fucking healing factor harshing his buzz. Chuck would get him back into his own body some time, hopefully before he had to deal with the hangover. After the kid had gotten some from Red in _his_ body, least he could do was deal with some pink elephants.

 

Then his phone rang. Not _his_ phone—the one in the backpack he’d been lugging around for the kid, with the Star Wars ringtone. Groaning, he dug around in it, finally upending the bag and picking up the phone from the detritus. Mary Jane Watson. The redhead from detention. Well, far be it for Logan to spoil the kid’s chances with a red slice.

 

“Whaddya want?”

 

“Peter, turn on the news!”

 

Logan paused to take a drink. “Why?” he asked after he finished.

 

“There’s a hostage situation! Some crazy Kraven the Hunter groupies have taken people hostage!”

 

“Sucks to be them, I guess.”

 

Her voice went shrill with disbelief. “ _That’s_ your reaction to people being taken hostage?”

 

“No, that’s my reaction to Kraven the Hunter having groupies.”

 

Sensing he’d be in for some whining if he didn’t, Logan fetched his remote and turned the TV on. The Playboy Channel came on full blast, stereo surround sound, before Logan got the local news on. _Sorry, kid. Gotta leave you hanging the bag on that one._

Yeah, he saw it. Two women calling themselves the Kravinoffs had taken a fucking zoo hostage and were demanding their boy toy be released to them. Cops were being useless. Ultimates were out of town. Looked like a job for Superman or some shit.

 

“Eh, SWAT can handle it. What d’ya think they get paid for?”

 

“Peter, now is not the time for your Spider-Man No More BS! Liz is in there!”

 

“Who?”

 

“Liz Allan! Our friend! _Are you drunk?_ ”

 

“You’re only drunk if you can’t handle your liquor.”

 

“ _God,_ Peter, I cannot deal with this right now! I spent half the day in detention, I might not even be straight, and now my best friend is being held hostage. Put on your costume and _do something!_ ”

 

“Wait, what wuz that about you being a lesbian?”

 

She hung up on him. Logan looked down at the pile of Parker’s shit on the floor. Yup, there was a costume.

 

No fucking way he was wearing that.

 

***

 

Unfortunately, Jean’s powers were too limited to pull the schematics to the device from someone in the know, but she could project her consciousness into the collars themselves and translate their inner workings into the projection of Peter’s room. A reproduction of the inhibitor collar, ten times life-size, appeared in the air above Peter’s bed.

 

“Cool. Can we, uh?” He gestured at it.

 

“What?” Jean asked.

 

“You know, like in Minority Report? Open it up and see the little holographic bits.”

 

“Not a computer, Pete. You want me to do something, you’re going to have to tell me what it is. And say please.”

 

“Alright. Give me a cross-section. Please.”

 

The collar dutifully split in two.

 

“And… spin it a little?”

 

It started spinning.

 

“Beautiful. Looks like—I’m not saying it is—it looks like the tech Reed Richards uses to control rowdy nonterrestrials.”

 

“Wow! Gee-whiz! You’re so smart!” Alison cheered mockingly. “How do we switch it off, brainiac?”

 

Peter propped himself up on one elbow. “It’s designed _not to be_ turned off, unless you’re damn sure the Person of Mass Destruction you’ve slapped it on is done being a jerk. But Reed’s is designed with a crybaby circuit. It gets damaged or impaired in any way, it sends out a distress signal so even if the deactivation is authorized, SHIELD or whoever is in the loop. This doesn’t have that. It has—“

 

“An explosive,” Kitty finished. She sat down on the bed next to him. “I think you’re smart,” she whispered, most sincere.

 

He smiled at her. “So we don’t disable the collar. We disable the explosive. Then we just cut it off.”

 

“With what?” Piotr asked plaintively, then saw Peter holding up his hands. “Oh. Da. Your borrowed body’s adamantium claws. Yes. Forget I said anything.”

 

“Jean, think you have enough mojo to move this bit—“ Peter pointed into the halved collar. “Out of alignment?”

 

“It’ll look bad if I don’t try,” she shot back.

 

“Good. We do everyone’s before we start taking them off. I’ll go last.” He grinned a little fatalistically. “Not my body, after all.”

 

Kitty swooned a little.

 

***

 

The old man watched the recorded footage and wondered how anyone could see these mistakes as human. As the telepath and the beast rutted—lovemaking was a human term—he saw all the ways their superhumanity had made them less than human. They moved too fast and too smoothly. Microexpressions colored their features, but in reaction to shared thoughts, not words or gestures. And their physicality; stamina, strength, enthusiasm, it was as far removed from human sexuality as pornography was from love.

 

It did strike him as tasteless, if not inhumane. Much like lingering on two dogs coupling, it simply denoted a lack of class.

 

Still, for bait to work, it must first be noticed.

 

He looked around the Krakoa complex’s control room. So much of it was like a TV studio, dedicated to the editing and broadcast of the livestream that paid for all this. Little pits were given over to the complex’s defenses and hunt teams. You had to crawl down into them on ladders. And most were watching the replay of the sex, edited on the fly to make it appear more bestial. If they weren’t, they were gossiping about what other X-Men might be persuaded to make a sex tape.

 

The old man ignored them. He was paying attention to the defense pit. The men there were formerly of Weapon X. They knew their jobs. When one stood, even the Genoshans listened. “I’m getting an unidentified on vector seven, matches no known flight profile.”

 

“X-Wing?” the old man asked, as the fat form of Mojo Adams, their host, _the_ host, rambled toward them.

 

“No, but not far off.”

 

The old man stroked his patchy beard. “The Blackbird, built by Jonathan Silvercloud. His mutant power is extreme mechanical intuition. If he were born in the 17th century, he could invent a stealth bomber.”

 

Mojo finally arrived, out of breath. “So why… are we… seeing it?”

 

The old man regarded him. “Because, as brilliant as this one man is, he is pitting his intellect against the millions of aerospace engineers around the world who have worked on radar technology, of which we have the very latest. Your very own show says it, Mr. Adams. A single mutant may be incredibly powerful, but pitted against ten _normal_ men? A hundred? A thousand? A _million_? Numbers always win. And this is a numbers game. Give the order.”

 

The fat albino reared up in surprise. “You’re waiting for my—“

 

“This is your facility.”

 

“ _Fire, you idiots! Blow them out of the sky!”_

***

 

Piloting the Blackbird cleared Scott’s head. The controls were much as the X-Wing’s had once been, as were the specs, though they’d diverged once Beast had taken over the X-Wing’s development and Forge had continued his innovations with the Blackbird.

 

Best of all, unlike on the X-Wing, the Blackbird’s cockpit was sealed. His team rode in the back. That was that.

 

He believed in mutant equality. He was willing to die for it. But he had to admit, if he were to judge mutantkind solely on the Brotherhood, that Sentinel switch would look awfully nice…

 

The door to the cabin jimmied open, letting in the sound of a raucous argument Pietro was having over someone _looking_ at his sister. Rogue came through the open door, shut it behind her, and took the navigator’s seat, strapping herself in as soon as she was situated. Scott smiled at her. Raven would’ve deliberately left herself unrestrained, just to bug him.

 

“Mystique sent me,” she said, respectfully using her adopted mother’s mutant name. “Said you’d want someone to talk to.”

 

“Yeah.” Scott gave the read-outs one last check before turning to her. “What’s the round-up?”

 

Rogue worked at remembering the technical term before getting it. “You know me and Toad are with you. Juggernaut, Blob, Quicksilver—they just want to kill humans.”

 

“Will they take prisoners? I want hostages, not blood.”

 

“They’re none too worked up about the poor innocent mutants of Genosha. Except for Wanda. She’s got a lotta room for sand in her vagina.”

 

Scott half-smiled. “Interesting way to put it, but sure. The twins—?”

 

“Who knows? They never line up for the Christmas photos, you know?”

 

“And Mystique?”

 

“Well… you know how complicated that is.” Rogue started looking around. “You got anything to eat in here?”

 

“Like some corn nuts?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“In the experimental piece of mutant technology?”

 

‘Yeah.”

 

“Check under your seat.”

 

Rogue reached down, feeling around for a bag. “Don’t think it’s some big deal. Yeah, I had the hots for you. I can’t touch anyone and half the people in my peer group are monsters. You have a six-pack; I wanna see your dick. Don’t take it too personal.”

 

Scott gripped the steering column tighter. “Look, Marian, Raven and I—“

 

“You’re fucking. It’s fine. She told me herself. _Not a big deal,_ ” she repeated. “Mystique may have raised me, but she ain’t my mother. Sometimes we’re more like best friends than that. Sometimes I’m a whiny little brat and she kicks my ass for it. It’s all fluid. It’s mutation. Ain’t like I was ever gonna grow up with white picket fences and a mommy and a daddy.”

 

Rogue came up for air, bearing a bag of corn nuts. Scott raised an eyebrow. He’d thought Forge was kidding.

 

“Just so you know,” Rogue finished, ripping the bag open. “I ain’t never gonna call you daddy.”

 

“Good: Raven calls me that already, so it’d be confusing.”

 

Rogue shivered. “I haven’t been this nauseated since I touched Blob with my bare hand.”

 

A light started flashing, corresponding with a shrill whine.

 

“What’s that?” Rogue asked, mouth full.

 

“Missile lock,” Scott said. “They’re shooting at us.”

 

***

 

“Target hit,” the fire control officer reported, not looking up from his console. “Tracking—confirm splashdown.”

 

“Sweep for survivors!” Mojo ordered, getting into the groove of commanding a junta. He beamed at the old man. “More contestants for the games.”

 

“Not too many, I should hope.” The old man coughed. “We only have so many inhibitors to go around.”

 

Mojo wedged his fat fingers together. “We’ll have to stop broadcasting live soon, record some stuff for later. Always leave the audience wanting more. This month, the death of the X-Men! Next month, the death of the Brotherhood! I could get a Nobel Prize! An Emmy, even!”

 

***

 

In the holding cell, there was absolute quiet. The X-men did not even think loudly out of fear Jean would be distracted and set off a collar’s explosive charge. Fortunately, the X-Men had been drilled on going thoughtless. Unfortunately, Spider-Man had not.

 

“The theme to Tiny Toons?” Jean cried. “Really?”

 

“Sorry, I can’t stop _thinking._ I go to public school, it would make things a lot easier, but I just can’t!”

 

Allison pulled up her shirt. She was not wearing a bra.

 

Peter did not look away.

 

“Thank you,” Jean said, relieved.

 

The newfound silence was quickly shattered. From outside came a sound of hissing, fizzling, gnashing. Everyone’s ears pricked up, but only Peter spoke.

 

“What’s that?”

 

“SAM sites,” Piotr answered. “I smuggled them during my time with the Russian Mafia.”

 

Jean stood, giving her stiff neck a crack. She’d deactivated everyone’s collar but Peter’s, but this made her think they didn’t have much time. And if it went off, he did have a healing factor, after all… “Someone’s taking the fight to Genosha, which gives us our shot. Peter, cut us loose, fast.”

 

***

 

“Sir, search teams are not reporting in. Perimeter defense in proximity to the crash site has also gone dark.”

 

Mojo’s chins rolled with the concealment of his anger. “We’ve got over six hundred cameras on this island! Show me Humanity Beach!”

 

The many screens devoted to culling interview footage became views of the northern shoreline. The blue tide was cancerous with red, mangled Reaver bodies washing ashore or being dragged onto the pristine sand by the Brotherhood. They were bloodied but unbowed, emerging from the surf like statues being washed clean.

 

“Men!” Mojo shouted, jowls wagging. “Send more men! Shoot them! Knife them! Bite them!”

 

The old man was untouched by the room’s sudden frenzy. “Am I the only one who finds this… convenient?”

 

“I am putting on a show! I find it incredibly inconvenient!”

 

Ignoring Mojo’s curses, the old man opened his laptop. “Let’s check in on our guests… oh. Look. An escape attempt.”

 

Mojo grabbed the laptop from the old man to see Wolverine slipping one claw under Marvel Girl’s collar, then sliding the blade through it. “Open a feed to them, now!”

 

***

 

Like giving myself a haircut, Peter thought as he tried to get a claw into his tight-fitting inhibitor without snikting himself. It was a lot harder trying to do it to himself. When the wall turned into an unappetizing close-up of Mojo’s face, he gave himself a shaving nick.

 

“You think you’re smart, don’t you?” Mojo roared.

 

Peter frantically tried to wiggle a claw under his collar again. “Well, none of us list Jabba the Hutt as our thinspiration.” Jean gave him a quick psychic tweet: _Stay in character._ “…bub.”

 

“I see you still haven’t removed yours. Idiot! The others’ collars were just to keep them in line. If worst came to worst, I was only ever going to activate yours!”

 

“That’s stupid,” Allison observed. “He’s Wolverine. He can heal from anything. See?”

 

Using the amplified sound of Mojo’s breathing on the audio pick-up, she blew off Peter’s earlobe.

 

It grew back.

 

“I can still feel pain! Bub!”

 

“Idiots!” Mojo said again. “His collar doesn’t kill him! It doses him with an excess of dopamine. Oh yes, Logan, I’m well-aware of your berserker rages—the anger that comes with a lifetime of pain and regret! It’s already injected you! And with our custom serum flowing through your veins, you’ll kill everyone around you, friend or foe. We’ve already evacuated your sector and locked it down, so there’s no one else to face the beast except your _team._ Not that you’ll remember any of this in an hour’s time, but make sure to pre-order the Blu-Ray on our website in case you want to know which of your friends you cannibalized.”

 

Storm blasted the screen with a quick bolt of lightning. The cameras on the same circuit exploded in firecracker-pops.

 

Then Peter noticed everyone was looking at him.

 

“Look, guys, I really don’t have a berserker rage, so I don’t think this is going to do anything too extreme to me. Maybe I’ll just get real mad about the Phantom Menace again. Or maybe—“

 

Piotr pointed down.

 

Peter looked. His erection was pushing out the crotch of his pants so hard, he might as well have shoved a can of Pringles down there.

 

***

 

Conversation over, Mojo flew away from the camera to see that now the old man was looking at the main screen. Was there no pleasing him?

 

Then he saw the Brotherhood was moving inland. “Reaver Units 4 and 5 have gone dark,” a technician reported.

 

“I can see that!” Mojo watched a blue-skinned woman gun one of his cybernetic augments down. “Send more _men!_ They could handle the X-Men, they can handle these—these!”

 

“The X-Men are children,” the old man said. “And we were still going to hunt the upperclassmen one at a time. We’re not equipped to deal with all of them _and_ the Brotherhood!”

 

Mojo slapped at a nearby bulkhead. “So what do you suggest?”

 

“Retreat. We can still use Plan B.”

 

“No! No, no, no! I am not losing this studio! We’re getting better ratings than Keeping Up With The Kardashians and _I haven’t even brought in the celebrity judges yet!”_

Another anonymous technician raised his head. “Sir, I’m getting a communique on the secure channel. I think you’ll want to hear this.”

 

Mojo barreled his way over to the technician’s workstation, gesturing for him to pipe it through. Even as he reached his destination, a strong, clear voice was coming over the speakers.

 

“Krakoa Island, this is Captain America of the Ultimates. We are aware of your situation and stand ready to offer aid.”

 

***

 

Colossus charged the cell door once more, bending the Carbonadium bars a little more. It was slow-going; the stuff was nearly as strong as Adamantium. Jean ignored the clang of Piotr’s organic steel body against their captivity. Reestablishing a psychic link-up with the X-Men was just as important.

 

She opened her eyes. “Alright, the other X-Men are okay. The Reavers have been called off them to deal with some kind of incursion. I’m getting a lot of secondary thoughts about the Brotherhood—“

 

Allison snorted. “Good to know your boyfriend finally showed.”

 

“He’s not my—“ “Not her boyfriend,” Jean and Storm said, almost at once.

 

“Whatever.”

 

“Nightcrawler’s on his way here now,” Jean continued. “Once he’s in, he can teleport us right outside. But first, I want to find the Professor. They’ve got him stashed somewhere in this building, so as soon as Colossus has the door down, we’re going to spread out and find him—“

 

A hinge came off the door, flying through the air to smack the ceiling. Jean took an involuntary step back and found herself pressed against Peter.

 

The last time she’d noticed him, he’d tucked himself into a corner with his hands over his crotch, apologizing even as Kitty tried to assure him it was okay. But obviously he’d taken a few steps away from the wall, because Jean could feel his cock right on her ass. God, it was so hard…

 

He wrapped his arms around her midsection, his stubble burning between her shoulder blades as he rubbed his face there. She could feel him right through her costume. The imitation material of the replica was far too cheap and far too thin.

 

“Peter…” she said gently, hoping the others hadn’t noticed.

 

“You’re so damn sexy,” he muttered, his voice seeming to vibrate into her where his chest pressed into her back.

 

His hand dipped down into her pants, fingers touching her revealing to them both how wet she was. She could feel his thought burning into her: _knew you didn’t get enough._

Jean felt his other hand pulling down the seat of her pants. She could feel that thought too. It was on fire. He was going to fuck her from behind, like a dog. Like she was a bitch in heat.

 

“So… you guys need a minute?” Storm asked.

 

It was hard to tell who pulled away from who fastest. Peter backed in the corner again, covering his groin with his hands like he’d taken a punch there, while Jean practically hopped getting her pants back up around her waist.

 

“Sorry, sorry—“ Peter was saying.

 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Alison said.

 

“Animal-beast-thing,” Jean likewise explained.

 

“ _I’m so sure._ ”

 

Peter took a deep breath, for the first time noticing that Colossus had gotten the door open. “Listen, you guys go on, defend a world that hates and fears you without me. I’d just… distract you. I think I’ll stay here and think about baseball.”

 

“You could always… _drochit_ ,” Piotr said considerately.

 

“Uh, no offense, but on the long list of things I’d like to touch, Wolverine’s wang is way below ‘a dolphin’.”

 

“We can’t just leave him here,” Storm argued. “What if someone stumbles across him in this state and gets hurt? The boy has no experience controlling Logan’s urges.”

 

“Well, teenage boy, high school relationship—I’ve got _some_ practice controlling urges.”

 

“I will stay,” Piotr said. “He cannot harm me.”

 

“Piotr, you’re our heavy hitter,” Jean said. “We’re going to need you on deck for this one.”

 

“I’ll stay,” Alison volunteered. “Everyone else has phenomenal fucking cosmic power, or is completely useless like Kitty.”

 

“Hey!”

 

“I can zap ‘im in the nads if he gets out of line.”

 

Peter made a face, but said nothing, agreeing with the necessity of it. Jean looked over her team, turning the idea over in her head. For once, Alison had a point, and no one else was volunteering. She signaled the other X-men to file out. “Just watch him. Try to talk him down. Keep his mind occupied. And keep your distance.”

 

“Not the first time I’ve needed to deal with a horny Canadian with the mind of a teenage boy,” Alison said. “Go. Do your lame Superfriends thing.”

 

Jean left hurriedly with the others. She didn’t want to linger on this. She’d gotten Peter into this situation, and if he came out of this having traumatized himself or anyone else, she’d never forgive herself.

 

As soon as they were gone, Alison walked across the cell to where Peter was crouched. She sat down on her haunches and looked him in the eye.

 

“Thank you for doing this, Alison,” he said distantly.

 

She smiled at him, running her hands through her spiked hair. “Call me Ali.”

 

***

 

“It’s a trap,” the old man said suddenly.

 

Mojo could’ve pulled his hair out. After some terse negotiation, he’d managed to get the rights to film and distribute the Ultimates fighting the Brotherhood, in perpetuity, as well as the rights to put any surviving mutants in the game. He was going to be a rich man, and he was already a rich man. He was going to be a rich man’s rich man. And his guest still couldn’t help but piss on his parade.

 

“We’ve got twenty million dollars of radar technology, all telling us that it is an official SHIELD Quinjet coming in for a landing. What more do you want?”

 

“Too convenient,” the old man insisted. “And the Brotherhood has illusionists.”

 

“ _One_ illusionist,” Mojo corrected. “Mastermind. And he’s with the Brotherhood, _killing us._ ”

 

The old man shook his head resolutely. “Too damn convenient.”

 

The main screen switched to a view of the Quinjet strafing the Brotherhood incursion, dropping the Ultimates as it went. Thor, Captain America, Iron Man, and more hit the Brotherhood like two thousand-strong armies compressed into two dozen combatants. Mojo watched as Thor’s axe took that blue bitch’s head off. Then he clapped.


	3. Chapter 3

Silver Sable caught sight of the Spider-Man on camera 5. As she’d suspected, he was headed to the zoo to deal with the Huntresses. That is, if it was him. He didn’t seem to be wearing the same costume.

 

***

 

Elektra watched Spider-Man enter the zoo. She was not a cold woman. She would let him save his precious hostages before she killed him.

 

What the fuck was he wearing, though?

 

***

 

Sasha Kravinoff watched the dark shape approaching fast through the glass that secured her fortress. The Spider. Some things were a constant no matter the universe.

 

“Ana!” she called to her daughter, her voice thick with her Slavic roots. “Get up here! I need you!”

 

The sixteen-year-old was dressed much like herself, though while Sasha left herself bare besides her bodysuit, Ana wore a safari jacket over hers. Besides that, they were next to identical, distinguished primarily by Sasha’s cruel expression and short-shorn black hair, while Ana’s face was more blankly engaged, her hair a long ponytail of gold. And she showed every sign of developing as voluptuously as her mother.

 

Hearing her mother’s call, Ana stopped toying with the hostages and ran up to join Sasha in the topmost portion of the enclosed commissary that sheltered them from the police. Both were armed heavily, favoring stolen Starktech weapons in favor of their more traditional arsenal. They were taking no chances in this strange place.

 

They watched the Spider approach, then crash through a high eyebrow window that no one else could’ve managed. He came down in a hail of broken glass and they were finally able to get a good look at him. Black boots. Leather pants. A wifebeater under a leather jacket, with only the gloves and mask showing red and blue.

 

“Is he gay in this universe?” Ana asked her mother.

 

“Fuck you, lady,” Spider-Man spat. “I realized halfway here that I didn’t put my beer in the fridge, so fuck if it ain’t getting cold. So can you psycho bitches just throw down the guns or do I have to listen to your whole spiel?”

 

Sasha was silent for a long moment. Then: “Spider-Man! It is only natural ve’d meet. Surely you vonder why someone would vant to secure the release of so odious a man as this dimension’s reality TV host…”

 

“No. I don’t care. Quit yakking and shoot at me so I can jump around and whatever the fuck.”

 

Ana gave Sasha a look. Then she unloaded at Spider-Man.

 

***

 

“You might not want to get so close,” Peter said, trying to cross his legs to better hide his erection. It was hard, sitting on his ass. His penis kept popping up from his cross-legged stance. “I can kinda… smell you… and stuff.”

 

“S’cool,” Ali said. “Just wondering, why Jean?”

 

Peter ground the heel of his hand into his eye. God, he could _really_ smell her… “Why Jean what?”

 

“Well, we all know what you and her _did._ ” Ali smiled off-kilter. “Could hear it from here. But was she _really_ so good you wanted seconds or do you just not have anything to compare it to?”

 

As bad as Peter’s day had been, he was still something of a guy and he did not like Ali’s insinuation. “Hey! I’ve got _plenty_ to compare it to, lady!”

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

Peter leaned forward. “Sue frickin’ Storm, for one! And… okay, that’s all, but still! She’s a celebrity, she should count as two or even three other women.”

 

“Easy, nerd, didn’t mean anything by it.” Peter’s shift had caused another slippage, allowing Ali to trace the outline of his cock with her eyes. “I’m just sayin’, you’re here in a room with three hot bitches and Kitty Pryde, and you go for the flavor you’ve already tried? Did you like it that much or did you just think she wouldn’t stop you?”

 

“I, uh, I mean, well…” Peter scratched his head, and Ali could swear, thinking about it was making his bulge twitch.

 

“Shit, it’s hot in here.” Ali peeled off her crop top, leaving her in a bra studded with metal and capri pants, and a lot of tattoos. “You wanna take something off too? Nothing I’m not gonna see anyway once I torrent you and the redhead getting it on.”

 

“Uhhhhh…”

 

“Is that it? Got a thing for redheads? I know the stripe in my hair is blue, but,” she grinned fiercely, “you never know what else might be dyed.”

 

***

 

“This is Captain America. All Brotherhood members neutralized and accounted for.”

 

No cheer went up in the control room. They’d already seen the fight and the Ultimates’ success was evident. Only a few were left alive, including Cyclops. Mojo was pleased. He knew his viewers would love to see that man being hunted.

 

“Bring them here for processing,” Mojo ordered, forgetting himself and his recent queasiness now that the situation is in hand. “I’ll… see what I can do about getting free DVD box-sets of the show for you and your men.”

 

“Copy.” There was a pause. Mojo could see the Captain America on their surveillance footage looking almost… ill at ease. “I’ve been instructed to ask that you release the X-Men into our custody, in exchange for the Brotherhood.”

 

“The X-Men are Genoshan criminals!”

 

“That’s true. But my government would be much more comfortable with you hunting down a bunch of terrorists than our citizens. Rest assured, if you give them to us, they’ll be duly punished.”

 

Mojo pressed his lips together as thinly as they could go. “I’ll consider it. Bring the Brotherhood here. You did promise, remember?”

 

“Yes, Mr. Adams. We’re on our way.” And Mojo watched as the Captain on the screen gave a hand gesture and his troops frog-marched the Brotherhood survivors off-camera.

 

Mojo shut off the feed. “He is _not_ getting the X-Men. Call our diplomat, tell him to get in touch with Washington. If Captain America leaves here with a single mutie in his possession, I want the _President_ up his ass!”

 

***

 

It was amazing, Peter thought, how unselfconscious Ali was about undressing in front of a total stranger. He almost would’ve applauded it—seemed very empowering—but he was seeing the downside of having Logan’s healing factor. Before, what he’d done with Jean would’ve emptied out his reserves for a good 48 hours. Now, maybe fifteen minutes later, his balls felt like they would explode. If he’d just swapped minds, he would’ve believed this body hadn’t gotten off in six months.

 

“I mean,” Ali continued, doffing her bra to reveal a pierced nipple and a tattoo of a heart in her cleavage. “You do wanna fuck me, right?” Standing, she wiggled out of her capri pants. How did he know she wasn’t wearing panties? “And I know I wanna fuck you…”

 

The hulking musculature of Wolverine’s swapped body was shaking like a leaf, so hard that the beads of sweat on his brow were regularly being tossed into the air.

 

“Could at least buy me dinner first,” he gasped hoarsely.

 

Ali patted one huge bicep lovingly. “Easy there, tex. See, I always heard you were a bit of a stick in the mud. I just want to know what it’ll take to get the stick out. So don’t worry; we’re definitely going to fuck.”

 

At the profanity, Peter gulped hard. “That’s… a little reassuring.”

 

“But first, _bitch,_ we’re gonna see what it takes to make you lose control.” She began hauling Peter’s legs out from the hunched-up position he had them in.

 

Peter fought his own body, but in the end, he was splayed-legged and his cock was making a basket out of the crotch of his jeans. “That’s really crazy, Ali.”

 

“No, that’s _metal as hell._ ” And Ali put a small hand with quite a few rings on his thigh, squeezing lightly, pleased with the solid muscle underneath the blue denim. And with the bulge between his legs.

 

She ran her hand up his inseam. Peter gritted his teeth together and laughed nervously through them.

 

“Uh, Ali—you sure this is metal? Not punk rock? Outlaw country?”

 

“Shhhhh,” she urged him. “Don’t touch me, Peter. I touch you. I touch you until I say otherwise. I don’t want you to fuck me just yet, motherfucker. I just want to see what your cock looks like.”

 

Eyeing him, she let her fingernails click over his fly until she’d found the zipper, then slowly pulled it down, never looking away from his eyes. He had to admit, it was a pretty good move. Then she reached eagerly into his pants, over the kinky hair of his groin and onto the thick shaft of his manhood. That ruined it a bit. Where Peter was long and slender, Logan had the purple-knobbed slab of a male porn star, and it made Peter feel a little bit like he was wearing a strap-on.

 

“Damn, bitch, that’s what I call a cock!” She grabbed him by the base and fished him out of his pants, giving it a little impressed grunt when he sprang free and continued to grow, then running her hand up and down the thickening shaft.

 

Peter croaked a bit. He grabbed for her, his callused fingers sinking into the meat of her shoulders, but just barely managed to pry his hands back off her. “Listen, Ali, you seem nice and all, but I’m kinda really worried what Wolverine’s getting up to in my body, so I’m not really in the best place to be a sensitive, giving lover—“

 

“Eh, he’s probably just getting drunk now that he doesn’t have a healing factor to turn every beer into a wine cooler.”

 

“But I’m not twenty-one! I can’t buy beer!”

 

“Oh. Well then. God only knows.” Smiling crookedly, Ali used her other hand to push up the hem of Peter’s shirt until he took the hint and pulled it the rest of the way off. Then she was scraping her unoccupied fingers through the coils of hair on his chest and belly. A soft white hand still pumping his cock like a watergun, she leaned down to lick up his sweaty chest, inhaling his musky scent right through her mouth. “Jesus. S’like getting laid at Burning Man. With a gay dude. No offense.”

 

Peter was gaping in pleasure and control, his hands weaving drunkenly in mid-air, fisted into tight little cords. One dropped lower and lower, like his arm was getting tired. The fist unclenched. He ran his fingers through Ali’s hair—even that seemed rough-hewn—and onto her face, where her piercings burned cold against his fingertip. She took exaggeratedly to his prompting, swaying with his hand to move downward, kiss his navel, then lap at the mane of dark pubic hair that surrounded his bulging root. He felt her blow hot air right onto his scrotum; his other hand opened and pinched the barbell piercing in her ear.

 

Now he guided her directly to his cock, and she sluiced her tongue over the wrinkly skin of his sack, up the root of his vein-etched cock, and finally to the mushroom-shaped head, where she lapped up a pearl of precum that oozed from his tip. Then she pulled back. His hands were frozen on her head, but she exerted more and more of an effort until he gave in and let her loose, his hands banging hard on the floor as he regained control.

 

“Fuck! Fucking shit!”

 

“Whew, the F-bomb,” Ali purred. “Thought you only cursed in Yiddish. Hey, are you a Jew? I only ask because I gotta know if it’s weird, having an uncircumcised wang. Is it? Trying sea cucumber?”

 

“I’m not Jewish!” Peter panted. “I’m just a really big nerd!”

 

“Oh, okay. Well, this concludes the oral portion of the exam.” Ali stood, buck-naked and self-conscious as a stripper. “I gotta get a condom before we go any further. Imagine Wolverine having kids! Probably be _born_ with enough daddy issues to be a hooker…”

 

Ali walked back to her clothes to fish for a condom in the tattered garments she called a uniform. Or she would’ve, if she hadn’t slipped on her own sock and landed facedown, banging her knee on the floor and splaying her legs. Exposing the swollen lips of her cunt, her shimmering wet entryway. How ready she was.

 

“Motherfucker!” Ali cried, holding her knee. “Who the fuck builds floors that can’t make one that isn’t the slipperiest fucking shit in the universe? Fuckin’ Slip-N-Slides aren’t this slippery! Jesus! I should fucking sue—“

 

The rest was lost to the ages. Peter literally pounced, mounting her from behind and stuffing her full of himself in one instinctive thrust.

 

***

 

 _This might actually work,_ Mojo thought. As the Ultimates brought the Brotherhood survivors in, he realized that he could always get them to recapture the X-Men running loose in his facility. He just had to throw them a bone.

 

After all, it wasn’t like Cap would be throwing a shield around when he was forty. He’d need to get into another line of work, and what better than TV personality? Mojo could swing that. Start him off slow with a commentary gig on Genosha National News, a few rounds on the interview circuit, then his own talk show. To say nothing of the chicks! Mojo could get them a music video played twenty-four/seven. And every woman wanted to star in a music video. Mojo knew the ladies.

 

He watched with an almost masturbatory glee as the Brotherhood members were sorted, each on a different screen, each shouldered along by an Ultimate. Captain America himself was bringing Cyclops up to the control room. Mojo cued up the footage of Marvel Girl and Wolverine’s little love nest. He was in a generous mood. He’d stream it again for everyone who missed it with a special insert of Cyclops’ face.

 

The heavy door to the bunker opened and Captain America shoved Cyclops through, the leader of the Brotherhood looking around through his creepy red visor. Mojo marched right up to him, hemming and hawing. “Captain America! Captain, Captain, Captain! Genosha owes you a debt of gratitude.”

 

“Where are the X-Men?” Captain America demanded. “I had assurances—“

 

“Don’t be so hasty!” Mojo said cajolingly. “Let’s talk it over first, haggle a little. Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Donut hole?” He gave Cyclops a look. “Nice shades. Don’t think you’ll be too popular with the audience. Lack of eye contact. Hurts your ratings.”

 

“The X-Men!” Captain America insisted. “Where are they?”

 

“Well…” Mojo wheedled his fingers together. “They’re somewhere in B-wing, we are having a bit of a locationary issue—it’s our leniency, really, we practically give them free run of the place, they go and cause trouble, we’ll sort it out eventually, maybe you could help? First things first—how would you like an hour every day to talk about family values to an international audience? _In primetime?_ ”

 

Captain America scowled. “So you don’t have them?” he asked.

 

“You seem awfully fixated on that,” the old man said, speaking for the first time from his recessed position—almost a hiding place. “Mr. Adams, are you sure it’s wise to allow a man that shoots optic blasts from his eyes into your control room?”

 

The Captain laughed out loud. “Cyclops? Please. He’s harmless. His hands are bound, and he needs them free to work the dial on his visor.” Captain America pointed to it—a small, svelte control on the side of Cyclops’ eye-wear. “See? Like this.”

 

And he turned the dial all the way.

 

Cyclops juked and pivoted, moving the uncontrollable stream of destruction with smooth precision. He’d already planned out the path it would take—wrapping around the room to destroy or disable anything that was a threat, as well as compromising the facility’s functions. In ten seconds, it was over, a swath of destruction having literally almost halved the room.

 

Now mostly herself aside from the white and red stripes on her belly, Mystique turned the dial down on his visor before moving to undo his handcuffs. What few monitors hadn’t turned to broken glass or static now showed the Brotherhood on a rampage; the Ultimates who’d been escorting them fading away like desert mirages. And the Quinjet on their runway had faded from its noble silvery silhouette into the cruel, dark angles of the Blackbird.

 

Cyclops didn’t pay attention to any of it. He went to the green screen from which Mojo filmed his host segments, cued up the stream with a few strokes of the keyboard, then looked at the camera and its blinking red light. He said nothing. Just let his red-sighted visage stream over wi-fi and broadband to anyone who might be watching.

 

Then he blasted the camera apart.

 

“That’s a wrap.”

 

Mystique rolled her eyes as she bound Mojo’s hands. “Are we doing quips? We’re doing quips now?”

 

Mojo just had two questions. “How? _How?_ ”

 

“Simple,” Cyclops said, never one to pass up a lecture. “You never shot us down. Just an illusion. The same as your men being taken out during our ‘attack’. We simply jammed your communications while showing you the illusion of the Reavers dying en masse.”

 

“Mutants are smart like that,” Mystique grinned.

 

“Then, when you were desperate, Mystique here made a phone call as Captain America and you gave us permission to land, right inside your facility. The rest is, well—academic.” That was all the time Cyclops had for Mojo Adams. Now he focused on the old man who was of such obvious importance, not to mention enough intelligence to hide before the room was barraged. “And who might you be?”

 

It was Mystique that spoke, her eyes clouding over in sudden realization. “Dr. Cornelius.”

 

He almost clapped, his look of admiration was so strong. “But how did you cast your illusions both on your aircraft and on Krakoa?”

 

“Illusionists.” Cyclops allowed himself a rare smile. “I have two.”

 

***

 

“I loved your big battle scene with the Reavers, Mastermind. I could barely even tell that Wanda got killed three times.”

 

“And good work on the Quinjet, Lady Mastermind. It almost looked like it wasn’t a really big toy.”

 

“You know what? That tears it. Get your own mutant name, sis, I’m tired of sharing one with you!”

 

“Who’s sharing? I’m Lady Mastermind because, much like Lady Judi Dench, I am classy, elegant, and feminine, while you’re Mastermind because that was father’s mutant name and you’re uncreative.”

 

“First off, it’s Dame Judi Dench, second, you realize he didn’t call himself ‘Mr. Mastermind’ or ‘Mastermind Man’ so it’s entirely sexist for _you_ to need a gender pronoun added on. Not that I’d expect you to care for your fellow women.”

 

“Like you care that I had to let Pietro _carry me_ into Krakoa so I could cast the illusions that got your fat ass inside?”

 

“ _You’re_ one to talk about fat asses, considering you show yours off to anyone with an X-gene!”

 

“At least they’ve found a genome for people who like my ass. I think the only guys that could like you would be, like, the Kree!”

 

“We’re identical twins, idiot!”

 

“Only because you keep using your power to make yourself look like me. I.e., _hot._ ”

 

“ _You’re_ the one who uses her power to look like _me!”_

“God, you’re such a little bitch. You know what you need? You need to cast yourself an illusion of a guy with a big dick and. Get. _Laid!”_

 

***

 

“HOLY SHIT!!” Ali cried out, sorting pain from pleasure for long seconds as Peter settled into her. She was more than wet enough, and her tonguing earlier had lubricated his cock, but _Christ,_ did he have a hammer on him! “PEAS AND FUCKING RICE!”

 

“Sorry, sorry!” Peter even breathed apologetically, backing what felt like a yard of cock out of Ali’s shaking body, exposing the gorge he’d temporarily reamed into Ali’s small snatch.

 

“Put it back!” Ali ordered shrilly. Her lips lifted up in search of him, already feeling empty, unsatisfied, _hungry._ “Get back in me, you fucking homo, you owe my ass at least as good a fuck as you gave the redhead! Shit, man, if you’re gonna take it, take all of it!”

 

“Sorry,” Peter apologized again, somewhat sarcastically, as he grabbed her by the hips and guided himself back inside. He had to admit, it flattered him a bit to hear Ali beg, even if it was in her own demented fashion. Probably just Logan’s hormones. It wasn’t like he was the kind of guy who got off on that sort of thing. He was pretty much on drugs at the moment, and it wasn’t even his choice. More like a contact high. So as long as he was tripping, might as well enjoy it.

 

Might as well _Ali_ enjoyed it.

 

“God, you’re big—fucking huge!”

 

“It’s a proportional thing,” he gritted out, eyes closed in the relief of feeling her cunt closed around him. “My other body’s longer.”

 

“You sound like a bumper sticker,” Ali breathed wearily.

 

Her body had spun through all the possible reactions it could have to being so deeply penetrated, and now she actually felt _drowsy_ with pleasure because Peter wasn’t screwing her. Not yet. He was just resting on his knees and hands over her while her shock wore off and her cunt expanded to accommodate his cock. She moved her hips experimentally and felt him so far inside her, it was a wonder she wasn’t choking on him.

 

“Why do we call you Wolverine? You should be named Horse. Donkey.”

 

“Barnacle.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“They have the largest penis size relative to their body mass…”

 

“Oh, shut the fuck _up_!” The blur of tattoos and wings that made up Ali’s hands flew to his hairy back, pulling at him to sink his cock into her just a little more. Peter gave in, letting her tug him into position so she had it all, every inch he could give her, even his heavy balls pressed up tight against her. “That’s right, motherfucker,” she sighed. “Fill me fucking _full_ …”

 

Peter’s eyes were closed, but the feel of her tight cunt enfolding him no longer brought satisfaction. He didn’t want to fuck her. He, his body, wanted to dominate her, own her. And he couldn’t resist anymore, not when she was asking for it.

Ali had no time to think; his cock was sucked out of her and then plunged back in, mixing pain and pleasure once more in her sex.

“Yes! Ohhh… _yes!_ ” she cried, the savage punching of his cock finally seeming to break through. She felt an explosive release inside her, going off with such force it knocked the wind out of her, left her gasping for air and consciousness. “Just like that, bitchfucker! _Hit me! Rip me up!”_

She reached out, hands stretching to her discarded clothes, finding her top and bringing the fabric to her to bite down on. Normally, she’d scream just as loud as she wanted, but not when the X-geeks might come running and, God forbid, make them _stop…_

 

 _Damn, you really do want it,_ Peter though. He was flabbergasted by the punishment she was both taking and asking for—Mary Jane, Black Cat, Sue, none of them had been like this. Only Jean had even hinted at it, and he’d convinced himself it was a put-on, a show for the online audience. But now, with Ali, he could only see her pleasure as a challenge. She wanted more, he’d give it to her.

 

“You want it hard?” he groaned, pulling her legs even further apart and gripping each of her thighs in a meaty hand. “Then take it _fucking hard!”_ He drove into her with all his mutant strength, a look of almost rage passing over his face. “Take it all, you bitch! _Take my cock right up to your throat!”_

Another orgasm, like a kick in the ribs, flattened Ali. She felt her sex squeezing shut on his cock, sucking on him like a vacuuming throat, virtually trapping him inside her. “Yes!” he yelled, her cunt lapping his cum right out of his shaft.

 

He pounded his full weight into her hole, giving her another shot of ejaculation with each thrust, until her cunt had become a buttery mess of his cum and hers, stretched open and filled in. He flung himself down onto her bare back and bit down on her shoulder, teeth grinding at her flesh until he tasted warm blood.

 

Ali screamed the shirt out of her mouth, bucking with his roaring, plowing cock. Each stab it gave her sent another ripple of pleasure through her body, like her orgasm was just going on and on, not stopping until the ecstasy became agony.

 

He pulled out of her, finished for now, her open cunt slopping out cum like the blood trickling from the bite mark on her back. His cock was still threateningly half-hard, and it only took one look at it for Ali to roll onto her back and part her sore legs.

 

“That all you got, bitch?”


	4. Chapter 4

Logan jumped around. Kid had some sort of danger sense on him. A bit like his ol’ animal instincts. He adapted easily to them. Just went with the beast inside. Dodged the blasts, scaled the wall, found himself landing beside the little chick-a-dee and slapping the gun out of her hands.

 

Girlie gave a roar— _Jesus_ —and he slapped the taste out of her mouth too. Then the MILF shot at him. He thought he’d try the web stuff, make the kid look good, and leaned to the side as he fired out a whatcamacall, webline. It hit the gun, he pulled it away, Sasha roared too, so he clocked her in the gut, threw her on top of her daughter, and webbed them up like they were giving each other a hug. Professor would probably like that. He was a big believer in family, after all.

 

“You fool!” Sasha cried, craning her head so she didn’t spit in Ana’s face as she spoke. “You’ve ruined everything! Do you have the slightest idea _vhy_ we needed your Kravinoff? What distant worlds ve have traveled through the web of life to—“

 

Logan didn’t listen to the rest. Walking around them, he’d noticed how Sasha’s tits were pressed against Ana’s. Now that was some mother-daughter bonding he could get behind.

 

“Okay!” he said, halfway through her spiel, taking a seat and pulling up his mask. Christ, could he not breathe in that thing. “I’ll bite. Why the fuck do you need a retarded version of Steve Irwin?”

 

“Because where we are from—“ Ana piped up, with a less pronounced accent, “there is no Kraven! He died! Dead at his own hand as the climax of his grim hunt!”

 

“Now ain’t that a shame. Bet the deer population’s just all out o’ control without him. Not ta mention all the goats won’t never lose their virginity.”

 

“Arrogant Americanski!” Sasha screamed. “You could never hope to understand a true manhood like my husband’s! Even this vorld’s pale reflection could at least prove virile enough to give me child—a male heir to the Kravinoff line that stretches back to the height of Russian power!”

 

“Well, hell.” Logan crouched down beside them. “If you wanted ta get knocked up, darlin’, all you needed to do was ask. You’re still young. Got enough left in ya to squeeze one out.”

 

“How dare you! How dare you make your commoner insinuations of me, the Lady Kravinoff—“

 

There was a reason Logan fucked on the first date, and it was because he always knew when to shut a girl up about Edward Snowden or the weather or what-the-fuck-ever and just kiss her. He grabbed Sasha by her pixie-cut and crushed his mouth against hers.

 

And the kid’s inexperienced body picked it up in spades. He almost could’ve believe that a bit of Frenching was turning him on like this, but the machinery was damn sensitive. His balls were churning as he devoured the woman’s mouth. He dropped a hand to her back and ran it down to her ass, which he gave a good squeeze to right through the webbing.

 

Ana watched the Spider force his tongue upon her mother’s mouth and cried out, kicking and screaming and trying to ignore how good Sasha’s thigh felt between her legs where they were pressed together, and the Spider’s kiss made her mother _writhe…_

So Logan stopped kissing Sasha and kissed Ana.

 

Ana would never, _ever_ admit that he was the first man who had ever kissed her. Never say aloud that his tongue’s exploration between her parted lips sent sparks racing through her body. She would kill on the spot anyone who said she had opened her mouth and met his tongue with her own. If she saw graffiti on a building saying that a prickly feeling had covered her flesh and she’d wondered if she excited him in the same way he did her, she would’ve burned the building down. That was all just _happenstance._ She hated being kissed by him. Hated it, hated it, _hated it!_

 

And Sasha felt her daughter’s nipples harden against her chest.

 

“Mmhm. Not bad,” Logan said, pulling away from the two sets of kiss-bruised lips. “You want a heir, could do worse than letting the girl carry it for ya. Do her tits a favor. Make ‘em nice and plump like momma’s.”

 

“ _Cockroach!”_ Sasha huffed. “We were only going to come to this world for the heir, but now, we vill have our revenge on you!”

 

Ana nodded in desperate agreement. “No jail can hold a Hunter!”

 

“Can’t get enough of me, eh? I’m touched. But I think you’d better write to Miss Manners ‘fore you can expect me to take you two out again. Mind your Ps and Qs, maybe next time I’ll invite you up for coffee.”

 

The police had finally realized the situation was resolved, and Logan could see their blowtorches cutting through the door. He shot out a webline and yanked himself up it, managing to exit the premises before he revealed his inexperience with the stuff. Not bad for a day’s work. Peter could thank him for keeping up the hero shit later. Kid owed him one.

 

***

 

Once Cyclops had dismissed her, Mystique was quick to hurry to the A-wing of the prison. Apparently, prisoners who didn’t merit the rare inhibitor collars were kept in medically-induced comas or (if they couldn’t be sedated) put into the games outright. A-wing was the coma ward. Rogue had been put in charge of securing it.

 

Not that she’d been truly worried, but Mystique was happy to find Rogue glowing with stolen health, the two human guards in the room knocked out and secured. “Some days I worry I’m gonna end up really dumb and racist from leeching these peckerheads.”

 

“I’ll still love you,” Mystique said with coy maternity. “Cyclops wants the prisoners kept under until we can determine if they deserve to be freed or if they’ll actual threats. Let’s see if we can find someone with a power you can use.”

 

Mystique took Rogue by the shoulder and walked around the room, glancing at patients’ charts. It was hard to recognize anyone with their heads shaved and countless IV lines trailing out of them, but she made out a few old friends. And one decidedly not.

 

“The Schizoid Man,” she read. “One of the Liberators—those idiots who thought they’d set America on fire. Superpowers used for geopolitical squabbling.” She tsked. “Take him, Marian.”

 

Pulling her glove off once more, Rogue set her hand on the man’s forehead. His face went varicose, while Rogue’s own skin writhed in dealing with the influx of new power. Then, Rogue simply split into two.

 

“Whoa!” the first Rogue said to the other. “You’re me!”

 

“No, I’m you!”

 

Raven grinned wryly. “Well, Marian, I never did want you to be an only child. Try making a few more. You can sweep the complex all by yourself!”

 

It was much like when Rogue had absorbed Madrox’s power. With a little concentration, she and her double split and split again—ending up with eight Rogues, which made her woozy enough to think she’d hit her limit. The Rogues gave each other admiring, critical looks, appraising their own looks from different angles, before splitting up to check the building.

 

Mystique watched them go, flush with pride. Her baby girl was becoming quite the little freedom fighter. It took her back to when she’d first met Marian, a wide-eyed little girl in desperate need of someone to take care of her.

 

Her nostalgia did not extend to the next patient down the line. Charles Xavier. She pulled some of his IVs loose, halting the flow of sedatives to his brain. She wanted a nice, long chat with him. It’d been too long.

 

***

 

“Did you know,” Dr. Cornelius began, “that you—all mutants, really—are descended from niggers?”

 

Scott’s visor gave him a good poker face. If Cornelius was trying to provoke him, it wouldn’t work. The rest of the Brotherhood had left, prisoners with them, leaving him alone with his strange quarry in the empty, devastated control room.

 

“I’m getting ahead of myself.” Dr. Cornelius was wizened, ancient—Scott pegged him as being in his 90s, if not over a hundred years old. Like the evil that men do, he seemed to have lived on past his own body’s expiration. “We’d just won the second World War. Captain America was gone, but the Super Soldier program remained, as did the Chitauri technology we’d captured—divvied up between us and the Russians… Nazi scientists… you’ve heard of Operation Paperclip, yes?”

 

Scott wasn’t interested in war stories at the moment. “Why are you here?”

 

“I came with the inhibitor collars. I invented them, and Mr. Adams paid me a great deal of money for them—a few other anti-mutant precautions I’d thought up. I’m not greedy. I simply have a great many grandchildren, and I would like them provided for.”

 

“The inhibitor collars—how do they work?”

 

“I was trying to tell you,” Cornelius insisted coyly. “A super arms race began between the USSR and NATO. Every country wanted its own person of mass destruction—Captain Paraguay and whatnot. I helped work on Dr. Erskine’s formula; America was ahead of the curb. We just needed to get back in the game. So we experimented. Negros, prisoners of war, chain gangs, even the homosexuals Germany was so good as to keep in their concentration camps. Did you know there is a rare-earth mineral in every human’s bloodstream specifically to keep them from reacting to cosmic radiation? I once theorized it could’ve been put there by an alien species at the dawn of man. Isn’t that interesting?”

 

“How do the inhibitors work?”

 

“Oh, not unlike Thallium or Hutchinsonite. The rare-earth mineral I told you about—I wanted to call it Cornelium—well, if you draw all of it out of the blood, then expose the body to high doses of cosmic radiation… mmm. Mm.” Cornelius bit his lip. He nodded. “Yes.”

 

“The collars are ‘Cornelium,’” Scott reasoned.

 

“Just a few milligrams from the average, _normal_ person. Forged into a collar. They prevent the body’s intake of cosmic radiation—that wonderful energy that lets you shoot optic blasts from your eyes and heals your wounds. Without that, the body’s production of mutant genomes shuts down, the mutations can’t be powered—you’re _ordinary._ Quite a frightful feeling, isn’t it?” Cornelius smiled. “Ready to ask the real question now?”

 

“The research. What did it lead to?”

 

“In most cases, nothing. A few killed or became quite… freakish. That jolly green man in New York. Still others became mutates. We didn’t make much progress on that before being shut down. I have to say, though, I have to say, we were far too softhearted. Those we’d done the procedure on who were apparently unaffected, they were just allowed to leave. The homosexuals didn’t do much harm, I’ll give you that, but all those Negros, all those POWs… released into the population, they _bred,_ and when their children got together with the children of another _test subject,_ the mutation became more pronounced. Until here we are, with the X-gene fully disseminated into the population, self-selecting stronger every day. An experiment escaped into the wild.”

 

Cyclops said nothing.

 

“Oh? Did you think you were humanity’s next stage of evolution? Shame. An intelligent man like you should know that evolution doesn’t _work_ that way. It makes species _adapt,_ it finds them _niches,_ it doesn’t give them laser eyes for no reason. Or did you think it was God’s will that you inherit the Earth? I know that’s what your magnetic boss is always saying in his little podcasts. But you’re wrong. You’re not special. You’re failed experiments, each and every one of you, and we will never forget that. We’ll never allow you to supplant _normal_ people—the descendants of the Negro and the mental patient and the Gypsy and the Hebrew and the war criminal—“

 

“Look me in the eye when you say that,” Scott interrupted.

 

Cornelius looked up.

 

Scott turned the dial on his visor.

 

***

 

Charles came to slowly. Mystique watched him flounder into consciousness, leaning over the foot of his bed with her gun dangling from her hand. One of the drugs given to him was disodium selenide, which would interfere with his psychic abilities, but Mystique was taking no chances. One rustle in her head and she’d put one through his shoulder, put him back to sleep that way. Hard to mess with someone’s mind while you were going into shock.

 

“What—what is this? Raven? What are you doing here?” He sounded drowsy. Weak.

 

“Just catching up with old friends. I don’t have many left these days. Not since your friendly humans started wiping us out.”

 

“Raven.” His vision cleared. “What’s going on?”

 

“Don’t bother using your abilities, I’ll tell you. It finally happened, Chuck. The humans came into your school and they took your students. Erik just thought they’d be put into camps. We never suspected they’d be hunted for sport on live TV.”

 

“The children,” Charles said with difficulty. “Are they alright?”

 

Raven flipped her hair a little. “As far as I know. Don’t worry. The Brotherhood is checking for them now. We saved you. When all your enlightened liberal friends and political contacts and _NPR_ were wringing their hands, _watching it happen,_ we saved you. Never forget that.”

 

“I won’t. Just as I won’t forget why I can’t take a morning jog anymore.”

 

Mystique straightened. “If we’re going to rehash the past, I could recall a certain blonde student of yours you decided was more _beguiling_ than me. Hurts my feminine ego a bit.”

 

Charles raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you choose to remember? After all this time? I didn’t know you cared.”

 

“ _Yes you did._ ”

 

“No, I didn’t. You never let me in, Raven. You never even hinted that you needed me, not like Emma did—“

 

“Don’t say her name.”

 

“You sell yourself as being such a cold predator, but you care. You care so much and you have no way of showing it. I wish… I wish we could’ve found a better way…” Charles ran his hands over his face, feeling the stubble that had grown while he’d been asleep. “If you’ve come for an apology, I’ll give you one. I was a much younger man then, and not at all a wise one.”

 

“No, you were right the first time.” Raven tapped her temple. “I’d find it a bit insulting, having you tell me how _sorry_ you are when we both know you don’t regret a thing except that chair of yours. But I do want to thank you. That boy you brought up, Scott? And he was always more _yours_ than Erik’s, wasn’t he? He’s a good man. Not like us. He actually cares when he hurts people.” She stared down Xavier. “More than he even cares about whether he can sleep at night or not. I like that about him. And I really like how he fucks like an act of God.” Raven licked her lips. “I’ll tell him you said hi. Then I think I’ll suck his cock. You know how good I am at that.”

 

***

 

Peter joked, but he thought he had a pretty healthy libido for a teenage boy. He masturbated occasionally, got together with Sue every so often, it was probably good for his heart or kidneys or something. It certainly felt good. And once he’d bopped it, then he could go on patrol in a spandex onesie without worrying that he’d tent his blue and red because he caught Black Cat bending over.

 

The problem with being in Wolverine’s body was that he could fuck someone pretty much nonstop for hours and the same healing factor that was only really strained by _napalm_ kept him as horny as ever. As long as he was aroused, he’d stay hard, and he’d keep fucking, and he took responsibility for it, not being aroused wasn’t going to be on the table for him. He tried to think of Wilson Fisk eating a hot dog or something, but he couldn’t go through with it; the thought of having an erection and that mental image at the same time was just too frightening.

 

So he just kept fucking Ali, while thinking distantly, vaguely, that he should probably be doing something to help the X-Men. Something besides giving one of them orgasms.

 

He wondered why the smell of Ali’s arousal seemed to have gotten so much stronger recently. Almost like there were two of her. Two horny women in the room with him.

 

***

 

Rogue’s dupe watched Wolverine pull out of Alison Blaire, fist his dick, and squeeze out great lashings of cum on the girl’s stomach, into her pubic hair. Dazzler reached down, grinning up at him as she massaged some into her skin, scooped more up to her mouth where she licked it avidly from her fingers.

 

The dupe couldn’t figure it out. Why waste a squirt like that on someone’s belly like it was sunscreen? Why not cum on her tits like he had with Marvel Girl in the video? And how was it that bastard could go from Jean Grey to Alison Blaire in, what, _one hour_? Was he just fucking _everyone_?

 

Another dupe came through the door, seeing the first peeking around the corner. “Hey—“

 

The other Rogue shushed her quickly. “Get over here,” she told herself. “You’ve gotta see this.”


	5. Chapter 5

Black Cat watched as Spider-Man left the zoo, dressed like someone out of her gay leather daddy porn for some reason or another. She’d heard the Kingpin was gunning for him, for real this time, and even if he was way too young for her, he didn’t deserve to die. She’d save him and try to let him down a little easier than she had last time. With the vomit.

 

He’d probably be hung up on her. That’d be awkward, if understandable. After all, where was a guy who owned multiple spandex onesies going to get any action besides her?

 

***

 

Ali screamed beneath Peter, writing in ecstasy and raking her nails over his now broad back. Her hips were heaving up to meet his, legs hooked around his midsection, and her body slapped down wetly on the metal floor every time he thrust into her.

 

Rogue— _A_ Rogue—was sure she’d never seen anything so depraved in her entire life. Sure, she’d watched that video online, but it couldn’t begin to capture the sheer savagery of their pairing, the _smell_ of their sex, the all-encompassing _noise_ of it. She could clearly see the shameless opening of Ali underneath him, each and every time he so easily slid through her. She and her double stared transfixed as it went on and on, hearing Ali’s ugly, demeaning language and Peter’s bestial growling. The two of them were acting out a primordial fantasy that Rogue barely recognized, but that swelled inside her, becoming more and more exciting as she felt more and more… _primitive._

Her clothes were becoming so uncomfortable—something to do with how she was sweating. She took the topmost layer off, and was surprised when she tossed it aside and it landed right beside a jacket the other Rogue had divested herself of. They shared a look before their eyes refocused on Peter and Ali, drawn back by the fever pitch of their grunts and groans.

 

They didn’t even notice a third Rogue dupe coming to join them in their voyeurism.

 

***

 

It changed nothing. Scott had thought about it and he’d decided. It changed nothing. He didn’t care if mutants came from men, aliens, God, dumb luck—anything. They were his people.

 

All that mattered was the information about the source. If mutation could be triggered, it could also be undone—targeted. That’d always been the fear, that someone would reverse-engineer the mutation and figure out how to tailor a plague to mutantkind. But if some scientist somewhere had the notes, the _blueprints,_ then it would be that much easier.

 

They’d have to go. Everyone in Weapon X, everyone in Project Rebirth. They’d all have to be dealt with. That was his top priority now. Let Magneto worry about their new Genoshan homeland. He had to take care of this. No one else could know.

 

Mystique entered, finding him still standing over Cornelius’s corpse, a little haze of red energy still leaking from his visor, chiseling into the point on the wall he was staring at. She came up to him and gently shut the tap off.

 

“Hardcore,” she said, staring down at the body.

 

“You were one of the first.” His voice was dry. Cracked. “You knew him.”

 

“Yes. Logan and I. It was a long time ago.” _And I don’t like talking about it,_ went unsaid.

 

“He wiped your mind.”

 

“He wiped everyone. I don’t age. Sometimes I see Renaissance paintings and I wonder if one of the women is me.”

 

_No. You were probably just an ordinary woman. Before he gave you a shot or a pill or a treatment…_

Scott turned. Stared at her. She was so beautiful… “You don’t remember what you looked like before…”

 

“I look like this now,” she answered firmly. “Blue and red. We complement each other.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I talked with Xavier and the redhead. They’re gathering up now. Getting ready to leave. I promised them the Genoshans wouldn’t be harmed.”

 

Scott nodded. Said numbly “We need hostages. To negotiate.”

 

Mystique rested her brow against his. “Magneto will take care of that. He’s on his way here. He congratulates you on a job well-done.”

 

“Mmm.”

 

“Did you want to see them? The X-Men?”

 

“No. I don’t. Didn’t.”

 

“It’s harder when it’s in cold blood. You don’t get to lie to yourself as much.” She subtly increased the pressure of her head on his. “He deserved it. You know he did.”

 

He nodded, shaking her loose.

 

“Let’s find a room. If we’re going to live here now, I want us to have the best bed.”

 

***

 

**“Fuck me, baby! Just like that! Fucking HURT me, motherfucker! Fucking animal! Fucking BEAST!”**

“I think Beast is some other guy,” Peter said mildly, in utter contrast to his body’s instinctual motion. Even fucking Ali through the floor was no longer enough for Peter’s inflamed passion. He rocked back onto his knees, picked Ali up by the middle, and slammed her onto his cock, up and down, deep and hard, grunting like a bull in rut as he _had her._

Ali’s eyes rolled back in her head, her mouth twitching like she was speaking in tongue, but Peter couldn’t care less. All his lustful eyes could see were her small tits bouncing on her chest so fast they blurred. He lunged, biting down on one of her nipple piercings and letting its drag pain Ali as he continued to pump her back and forth on his cock.

 

Ali shrieked in pain and passion, her hair never wilder as she tossed her head from side to side, no longer riding the bulging manhood battering her insides but being ridden by it. “Gonna come—“ she reported brokenly, her voice now hoarse.

 

Peter spoke through the piercing clenched in the side of his mouth. “So come, you little whore.” As he spoke, he was tossing her around like a Dobermann with a chew toy. “You said you wanted this. _Fucking take it!”_

She tried so hard to reciprocate—slap him, call him a motherfucker, grind down on his cock like she did so well—but she was so well-fucked that it was hard enough to breathe. She could only go limp and let him punch his cock into her time and time again. When he crushed his weight back down upon her, her cunt red-hot with his blazing ejaculation, it was more than a relief.

 

“Fucking hell—“ she breathed six full minutes later, him still inside her and the words dripping from her parted lips like globs of molten lead. “Now _that’s_ what I thought popping my cherry would be like! Course, if I’d gotten a dose of _that_ back in junior high, I probably would’ve become a fucking nun!”

 

“Oh, are we done? I thought I heard past-tense.”

 

Ali looked up at him, dipping a finger into her cum-ridden crotch and bringing it up to her mouth. “I don’t know. _Are we?”_

“I don’t think so.” Peter stood, taking a deep breath. His cock was still hard. “In fact, I don’t think you’re going anywhere until you eat my cum like a good little girl.”

 

“Mmmm.” Ali looked at his cock, rapidly growing even stiffer. “And if I say no?”

 

It was then Peter noticed the four Rogues watching him from around the corner. Suddenly mortified, he covered his groin with the nearest thing he could get his hands on—Ali’s head.

 

“I like the way you think, motherfucker!” she said, though it was garbled by her mouthful.

 

***

 

A crowd of one had gathered at the door of the cell, four half-naked bodies pressed close together to see without any pesky bars in the way.

 

“Look at him go—man knows how to treat a lady. Take her hard and fast…”

 

“Anyone know who she is? She’s not Jean and I always heard him and her—“

 

“Who cares who she is?”

 

“Hope he comes soon. Oral’s boring; I wanna see him fuck her in the ass.”

 

“You like it in the ass, huh?” One of the Rogues slipped her arm around the other’s waist. “Didn’t know we were into that.”

 

“Well, part of big momma must be into it, cuz I’m that part.”

 

The audience’s remarks became more and more lewd, their interest in each other more and more open, but Ali couldn’t bring herself to care. Good practice for when she released a sex tape. She gulped Peter’s cock down to the throbbing base, feeling his nuts on her chin with a fresh load of cum all for her.

 

“That’s right, baby!” one of the Rogues whispered. “Suck ‘im just like that! Make him shoot and eat what he gives ya!”

 

She spit his shaft from her mouth, inhaling only the heady aroma of his arousal before going back to playing with it—licking, kissing, teasing with the side of her face laid against his beefy thigh.

 

“I’m sure you go both ways,” Peter said, “but I’m not one of your gal pals. I don’t want foreplay; get back to sucking.”

 

“Make me,” she replied with an appropriate grin.

 

She’d been expecting it, but it still surprised her how quickly he had her down on her back, his knees in her armpits and his cock at her lips. “You don’t have to suck, Ali. You can just open that little mouth and let me _fuck it._ ” And her mouth obligingly opened, letting him dig his cock deep into her throat.

 

“Holy shit!” a Rogue cried. “Look at her suck cock!”

 

“You mean look at him _make her_ suck cock.”

 

“Give it to her good, Wolvie!”

 

“Do I get a go?”

 

Peter went on, not heeding the obscenities of Rogue’s anthropomorphized id. He was about ready to come and he wouldn’t stop. Sweat was pouring from his body like he was being purged, the last of his body’s essence gathered in his balls and ready to be ejected. “You ready? Ready to be a good little cocksucker? Look at all these people—fucking Southern quintuplets running around. They all wanna see you suck my cock…”

 

Ali gagged on him, fighting for air, tearing at his chest with scratches that instantly healed. His balls were between her tits and they could both feel them rumbling. She nodded and he lifted himself so he could breathe, but no sooner had he done so then she moved up with him, refusing to let go of his cock. She wrapped her arms around his ass as her nostrils flared, trying desperately to get air even as she downed him like a hungry animal.

 

“Imagine touching him,” one of the Rogues said. “Getting the memory of what it feels like to have your cock down a girl’s throat, right from the source—“

 

“Or her. Knowing what it feels like to really get _fucked…_ ”

 

“Fuck it.”

 

And just like that, one of the Rogues was coming toward him, the other three a half-step behind.

 

That was enough to make him come. One moment he was in control—barely—enjoying having Ali plead with him for his cock. Then an orgasm was storming his cock, taking hold of him, and he hammered into her mouth like a machine gun on full auto. “Fuck—you fucking wanted it—so here it is!”

 

He came like a broken dam as the Rogues embraced him, bare hands roaming his naked flesh, ready to leech his memories and powers. But nothing happened, save for the eroticism of their interruption fueling, prolonging his orgasm.

 

He had no idea where the never-ending dregs of his ejaculation were coming from, but he kept coming even as Ali slid off his cock and took his release in the face. One of the Rogues grabbed his cock, trying to suck him there, but nothing happened aside from yet another blast onto Ali’s tits, now offered up for the slow dwindling of his climax.

 

His cock dwindled, a heavy club now weighted down by exhaustion. And the dupes around him on all sides, now confused by the derailing of their plan.

 

“He’s immune.”

 

“Or—we can’t suck.”

 

“I’m sure you can suck if you really want to—“ Peter said quickly.

 

A Rogue crouched down and touched the weary Ali. Nothing happened. “It doesn’t work. Us duplicates—we don’t have her power. _We can touch people!”_

“Hey!” Ali cried, weaving her way to her feet. “Fuck off, groupie cunts. I’m not done with him. He hasn’t even _fingered_ my ass yet!”

 

“We haven’t had anything fingered!” a Rogue protested.

 

“BRIGHT LADY, WE’VE BEEN GONE HALF AN HOUR!”

 

Peter, Ali, and the Rogues looked over to see that the X-Men had returned, joined by Professor X, who was perhaps the only one not staring at Peter’s erection.

 

Ali shrugged, upsetting some of the cum balanced on her tits and sending it trickling down her belly. “Yeah, I’m a fast operator, what can I say?”

 

Peter grabbed a pair of pants and tried to struggle into them, realizing too late they were Ali’s capri pants and not at all suited for Logan’s squat legs. He gave up, just holding the pants in front of his crotch.

 

“Hey, don’t get cum all over those!” Ali told him. “I took those off specifically to avoid cum stains!”

 

“Professor!” Jean cried. “Would you—could you say something?”

 

“Well, this does bring to mind numerous ethical quandaries. Whether it was acceptable for Ms. Blaire to perform sex acts upon Peter while he was under the influence of a mind-altering substance, whether it was appropriate for Peter to engage in sexual activity while in another’s body, if Rogue should be permitted to watch when the real Logan hasn’t consented to allowing his body to be observed in flagrante delicto…”

 

“Wait, real Logan?” a Rogue asked. “Who’s Peter?”

 

“Secret identity!” Peter stressed.

 

“The fact that you have a secret identity gives a clue to your secret identity,” Jean said testily.

 

“ _Someone’s_ worried she’s not the best Spider-lay he’s gotten today,” Ali replied.

 

“Secret! Identity! Look, can I just go back to my body now, please? It’s not much, but I’m used to it, and after today, I think I’ll be cool with crazy women not jumping my bones out of nowhere.”

 

“ _Women?_ ” Jean and Ali said at the same time. “I’m not crazy—“ “—She’s not even crazy.”

 

The Rogues were quietly backing out of the room.

 

“Please?” Peter repeated, staring at Xavier.

 

“Yes, I think that would be best. A moment, please. I would hate to swap your places while Mr. Logan is in danger.” Xavier put a hand to his temple. “Ah.”

 

“What, what is it?” Peter demanded. He almost dropped his pants in consternation.

 

“Nothing. Logan is asleep at the moment. I can switch your places easily enough. It’s just that he’s been—“

 

“Save it. I really don’t want to know. Just…” Peter circled his finger in the air.

 

“Very well. I will…” Xavier circled his finger in the air.

 

A moment later, Logan’s body dropped flat on its back and stayed motionless.

 

Storm leaned over to Ali. “So… how was he?” she whispered.


	6. Chapter 6

Peter felt his head pound. His phone was ringing in the darkness. No, not _his_ phone. Dial tone was all wrong. His was at least two nuclear explosions quieter. Eyes still shut, he pushed his nice, normal, uncallused hands against his ears. That helped, a little, although _moving_ did not.

 

He took what stock he could of the situation. Lumpy bed. Couldn’t feel much on his body but the sheets and dry sweat. He opened his eyes painstakingly and the cracked plaster above his head was definitely not the Albert Einstein poster he was used to. Was he actually in Wolverine’s _apartment_?

 

Well, he supposed that made sense. Better that than subject Aunt May to a him-sized Wolverine. And, judging by the liquid explosions behind his eyelids during his long, slow blinks, Logan had managed to score some alcohol. A lot of alcohol. A Tony Stark level of alcohol.

 

The ringing finally stopped, replaced by Logan’s voice. Answering machine message. “You know what to do,” he growled. _Beep._

“Heh, Spider, that you? God, you sound like you swallowed a blowtorch. This is, uh, you, right? I suppose you could’ve given me a fake number, but after last night… why the hell would you?”

 

Black Cat’s voice. He supposed it was inevitable that Logan would run into _someone_ he knew while taking his body for a joyride. At least it wasn’t MJ or Gwen. How much damage could Logan do to his relationship with someone that had vomited at the sight of him?

 

“Well, maybe you’re still sore about that _other_ time we met… with Hammerhead? Look, I’m sorry about that. Since you didn’t mention it the other night, I assumed you let me off the hook, but I owe you an apology. Kid. I misjudged you, a ton—it’s obvious now that you’re a really old soul and, c’mon, what are you, seventeen? If I ever go to jail, it’s gonna be for a lot worse than popping some high schooler’s cherry. If that was your first time. Sure didn’t feel like it. Mrow.”

 

Oh, no. _No, no, no!_ Peter tried lifting his head, and cracks like a string of firecrackers popped down his spine. He got a better view of the ceiling. A lot of webbing was hanging from it. And stuff hanging from the webbing. Like… was that a bra? And a stuffed animal?

 

“So when I see you again… _if_ I see you again… I just want you to know that I’d be _very_ interested in exploring… _whatever._ And let’s make that soon, huh? I’d love it if you could destroy my ass again sometime this week.”

 

Peter put a hand to his pounding head. It didn’t help. Or it did help, a little, but what was profoundly _unhelpful_ was the realization that his head was entirely shaved. Either Logan was very petty or he’d needed chemotherapy in the couple of hours Logan had spent in his body. Peter ran his hand over his body, checking for any piercings. No, no, and no. And it didn’t feel like any tattoos either—they’d still be all red and sore and probably even bandaged, right? It wasn’t like he could have _I’m Spider-Man_ tattooed on his forehead and not know it.

 

Alright. Shaved head. Frightening-sounding sex with Black Cat. Fair’s fair in love and body-swaps. He moved his other hand to wipe some of the crud out of his eyes.

 

The handcuff jingled around his wrist.

 

 _Okay,_ that was just childish. He was Spider-Man! He could just break the handcuff, and that was just a waste of a perfectly good handcuff, he could’ve spent that money on books for disadvantaged youths or something, what was the point of handcuffing Spider-Man to _nothing at all_ judging by the amount of slack on the…

 

Pulling on it dislodged the slender wrist it was attached from the pile of blankets and cushions at his side. Peter tried very hard to look on the bright side. Good news: it was still attached to someone’s body. Good news: That someone was breathing. Good news: That someone was a woman. And not a bad woman to be handcuffed to, lookswise. Everything else-wise, _yes,_ given that she was Elektra Natchios, the Kingpin’s chief enforcer-cum-assassin.

 

And she was naked, in his bed, asleep and… grinning.

 

Concentrating on being quiet even harder than when all he’d had to worry about was a hangover, Peter looked around for a key. It was amazing he’d managed to fall asleep next to her without waking up with a sai in his chest. Like riding on the subway with Bill O’Reilly and not hearing anything about the War on Christmas. But he wasn’t going to push his luck. He’d find the key, unlock himself, and although he hated to be ungentlemanly, _he was going to get the fuck out of there before the crazy lady woke—_

“Mmm. Morning.”

 

Good news: Elektra wasn’t awake. Bad news: The woman on the other side of him was. Worse news: It was Silver Sable, the woman who’d been hunting him for sport the last week. Lot of that going around, apparently. Worst/good news: She was as naked as Elektra.

 

“You’re up early,” Sable said, shifting her head so it was resting on his slender chest. She ran a finger down his front. _Nope,_ he wasn’t wearing a thing, which was way more than he wanted to know about Wolverine’s sleeping arrangements.

 

Though he could stand to hear a little more about the company. Questions like _How?_ and _HOW?_ sprang to mind.

 

Then Sable found what she was looking for. Well, at least he was wearing something down there. A ribbon. It did not make him feel very prized.

 

“Mmm.” Sable moaned. “Up _very_ early.”

 

So sue him. His reaction to waking up with two beautiful naked women wasn’t _I wonder what’s new on Netflix Instant._

“And sleeping beauty’s still out,” she continued with a faint lick across his cheek. “Looks like I’ve got you all to myself for now. Tell you what. Do that thing you did to me last night just one more time and I’ll forget I ever saw you. Unless you want to meet Roxxon in the altogether.” She felt something against her hand. Not the hand she was leaning her head on. “My, my, Spider. I’ll take that as a yes…”

 

***

 

In the day after their takeover of Krakoa, there was controlled chaos. The Genoshan military made a hasty attempt to retake the island, but with the Brotherhood’s position fortified and Magneto’s arrival, it was easily repelled. The complex had many prison cells for the hostages they’d taken, and the UN made the usual noise about negotiating a treaty. Cyclops heard talk of anti-government protests by mutants in the continental Genosha. When it flared into rioting, the Brotherhood would be there to fan it into full-on revolt.

 

For now, they waited. Appeared peaceful. Tolerant. Magneto delivered his rhetoric to cameras that had once filmed mutant death games. And Scott rested.

 

Mystique had insisted on giving them the most luxurious room in the complex. She felt they’d earned it. Magneto slept in a ferrous bedroom he traveled with, so they were free to take over Mojo’s former room. After replacing the mattress and sheets, Raven laid Scott down and massaged him to sleep. She knew he wouldn’t be up for a fuck. He wasn’t like her.

 

Still, Raven enjoyed lying with him, wearing a black lace gown from the loot they’d liberated. She liked the way it felt on her skin. She liked the way it made her look.

 

After a short while of lying awake—almost on guard duty—she heard a knock at the door. She got up to step through the room—oak-paneled unlike the metallic bulkheads comprising the rest of the base, and mostly bare now that so much of its wealth had been redistributed to the other Brotherhood members. What was left was a luxuriously deep carpet, a plush red couch scattered with cushions, and the refrigerator. Raven was willing to part with a lot of the excess furnishings in the room, but not with any of Mojo’s personal larder. The others had no idea how hard it was to get Nutella in the Savage Land.

 

She reached the door, opening up its wooden frame to the metal corridor outside. Marian stood outside, and her mouth dropped open a little at the sight of Mystique’s blue body shining through her sheer black gown.

 

“Hey. Mom,” she said unevenly.

 

“Marian. What can I do for you, baby girl?”

 

“It’s, uh…” Marian scratched the white stripe in her hair. “It’s my dupes.”

 

“What about them?”

 

“Yeah, what about us?” another Rogue asked, sneaking a peak past Marian’s shoulder.

 

There were four of them in addition to her Marian and Mystique could see they’d been in the dressing room. Rogue 1 wore clothes far… _skankier_ than what Marian was usually caught in. A sheer green blouse, a microskirt, and a black dog collar that matched the bra visible through her top.

 

Rogue 2 hung back, dressed conservatively in a white blouse, hooded shawl, long gloves, and slacks. She looked as nervous as Marian had been when Raven had first known her—anxious and fearful of her power.

 

Rogue 3 wore a green bodysuit under a brown jacket, the former unzipped to reveal an expanse of cleavage that was quite unwise given the scope of her power.

 

Rogue 4 was actually dressed in what was most definitely intended to be a take-off on the X-Men uniform. Black leather, skintight, with lots of straps and boots and gloves, most of them in yellow for some reason.

 

Her Marian was easy to pick out amidst all the her extreme clones. She wore a long dark trenchcoat, clenched tightly around herself.

 

Mystique’s nose wrinkled. This had the unfavorable taste of a teachable moment. “I thought you recalled all your dupes.”

 

“I did!” Marian protested. “These—they don’t wanna go. They saw Wolverine and that mutant Joan Jett, so it’s like they discovered _boys_ all at once or something—“

 

“Don’t push this off on us!” Rogue 3 protested. “You’re the one with all this naughtiness that made its way into us!”

 

“We didn’t ask you to make us!” Rogue 4 added.

 

“Guys, c’mon, she’s like our mom,” Rogue 2 muttered.

 

“We wanna fuck!” Rogue 1 shouted.

 

In the background, Scott mumbled and turned over in his sleep.

 

“Ooh, is that Cyclops?” Rogue 1 asked.

 

“No!” Marian said quickly.

 

“No it isn’t or no—“

 

“Just no!”

 

Mystique watched, richly amused. “Well, dear, this seems like a personal problem. Quite literally.”

 

“Ma!”

 

“ _Ma!_ ” one or two of the Rogues imitated mockingly.

 

Rogue 3 strove for reason. “Look, we know how it works. Sooner or later we’re gonna break down and go back in the box. But we want to live a little first! We know how it works from the thing with Madrox. When we go back, momma feels everything we felt. We just want to give her something good to feel.”

 

Mystique tilted her head to the side. “Such as?”

 

“You’re all idiots.” Rogue 1 reached out and grabbed Mystique’s hand. “Look! No power! We can touch people; she can’t!”

 

“Shut up,” Marian hissed, slapping Rogue 1’s hand away.

 

“This one has a point,” Raven said, bopping Rogue 1 on the nose. “You do have a unique opportunity here, Marian. What would you like to do with it?”

 

“Well…” Marian looked stricken. “ _They_ want to gangbang Scott or sumthin’!”

 

Raven quirked an eyebrow. “So?”

 

“ _So?_ ”

 

“What’s the problem there? I just want my little girl to be happy, and if fucking Scott Summers makes you happy…”

 

“Alright!” Rogue 4 cheered. “Told ya she was a classy broad!”

 

Marian stared at the floor. “I thought you’d—“

 

“Be jealous? Marian, you’re my daughter. The love of my life. The only thing that could possibly make me jealous is Scott giving you a pleasure I can’t. And I’ll live with that. So now, what’s the _real_ problem?”

 

Marian took a deep breath. “Well, this’d pretty much be my first time. And it’s not like… it ain’t like… I don’t wanna lose my virginity in some kind of orgy. I want my first time to be special. I want it to be with someone Ah love, and who loves me!”

 

Raven reached out to stroke Marian’s cheek, pulling her hand away when Marian’s power absorbed some of her blue. “I understand, Marian. But I can’t make Scott fall in love with you. I wish I could…”

 

“You can!” Rogue 2 insisted, speaking up like it was a major accomplishment for her.

 

Raven faced her. “How?”

 

“You… you…”

 

Marian got between them. “I want you… to be me. Then be with him. Let me watch. He cares about you… he loves you. So when you’re in my form, it’ll be like he loves me. That’s all I ask. Sorry.”

 

Raven looked over the other Rogues. “And you can all accept this.”

 

“If we get him afterward,” Rogue 1 said, arms crossed in a rare covering of her cleavage. “I don’t just want some fucking Nicholas Sparks moment with the boytoy. I want to get fucked. We all do!”

 

Raven breathed deeply. Then she began to change. Yellow eyes turned to green. Blue skin faded into pale flesh. She peeled off her lace gown as her skin grew a facsimile of Marian’s clothes. Until finally she stood before Marian, a reflection.

 

“And could you…” Marian started. “Could you maybe… make yourself a virgin again? If it won’t hurt too much.”

 

“I’ve listened to Scott’s jokes. This is nothing.”

 

“Me and the dupes, we don’t have hymens. Lost it to a cucumber, age fourteen.”

 

Mystique snapped her fingers. “I _knew_ one of my vegetables went missing!”

 

Marian managed a nervous giggle. “Ah just want it to really be… like it could’ve been. Ya know?”

 

“Yes dear. Don’t worry.” With a little concentration, Raven tightened her sex to the point of virginity. She’d always wondered how Scott would manage with a first-timer. He seemed such a caring sort; maybe if Raven’s first time had been with a caring sort, she wouldn’t have ended up as a mutant terrorist. Maybe a lot of things.

 

Maybe she was a _great mom_ to Rogue, and the girl had still ended up a member of the Brotherhood. Who cared?

 

Raven gestured her many, many daughters to the couch. “Sit down. Take a load of. _Watch and learn.”_

She walked to the bed, shifting her appearance to have a few less layers than the real thing. Certainly less underwear.

 

She was going to lose her virginity to Scott Summers and she couldn’t wait.

 

***

 

Silver Sable walked down the streets of New York knowing exactly how she looked. Hair a mess. Clothes wrinkled. Bra missing because it was in a waste bin somewhere, in four or five pieces. Let them stare. When the sex was as good as it had been, she almost wanted to brag about it. Last night, with Elektra… then again, one-on-one, and that was even better once he dumped the lame frat boy stuff. Just let himself be ridden…

 

Shaking herself of the memory before she could go back and help herself to more, Sable pulled her phone from her pocket and hit the quick-dial for Roxxon. She would never call sex that good a wash, but the fact was, she had actually gotten some business done overnight—not that she’d ever put those hours on her ledger. She knew Spider-Man’s face now, if not his name. She knew his measurements; _every_ measurement. And with all the scratching, the biting, the slapping—she didn’t think he’d even noticed…

 

Mr. Roxxon picked up on the first dial—one of the few qualities she admired about him. “Don’t tell me. You picked up Flash Thompson again.”

 

“Har har.” Sable cradled her smartphone against her shoulder as she hailed a cab. “I’m calling to say mission accomplished. Job’s done. Spider-Man has been injected with your precious symbiote. The rest is all up to you.”


End file.
